She wanted to run away.
The feeling of hot cement under her cracked feet, the feeling of sand between her toes, the wet morning grass stretching beneath her strides.
She needed to leave.
She couldn't remember the feeling when she was here.
But she could still it, a ghost, hovering in front of her.
It trembled and shivered, gleamed and glittered, but when she extended her hand outward it would twitch away.
She wanted to go back to the feeling, bathe in it, soak in it until her skin shone again. Cover herself until she remembered how to breathe. Until her heart began to beat again.
But it teased her, whispering that it was not that easy.
She had to bring it back, she had to live it back, she had to remember how she had let go and stepped forward and trusted and fell all over again.
She had to live it all over again.
She couldn't run, or hide. For it would run faster, hide better.
She had to stop reaching for the ghost,
and create a new feeling.